


Hunger

by felin78



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Drama & Romance, F/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:55:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felin78/pseuds/felin78
Summary: Why is Count von Krolock, a centuries old vampire, interested in Sarah? He is an educated nobleman, she is a simple village girl. It must be something more, something deeper….





	1. Birth Day Witness-0

**Author's Note:**

> Originally first posted over at fanfiction.net, starting in April 2013. Still in progress
> 
> I didn't really intend to write this at all but after watching parts of TdV on YouTube I couldn't stop thinking about the story and the translation (as I do not speak German) and hearing the amazing music and voices swirling in my head. I started writing a little TdV vignette as a break from my original novel (please God, help me finish it!) and don't know how it became this…thing. I usually write slash, so this is a little bit of a departure for me. Yes, I've read with interest several deep discussions about the meaning of TdV, about the relationships, about love & lust, the evil and the good side of living forever…this is a spin on the elements of the musical, not tight to canon, okay? I'm a romantic; so sue me. 
> 
> "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Hamlet (1.5, 166-7).

Count von Krolock stood on the battlements of his castle looking out into the night. His senses ranged far afield, surveying his domain. On the wind hunger called to him, sweet as newly spilled blood. It drew him from his dark meditations and down into the small village at the foot of the mountain.

A woman in childbirth, at the small inn. He smelled the child come forth in blood and water, heard her fierce cry, felt the hunger. A babe, an infant, demanding to be fed. A simple enough birth, they happened all the time in the families of his territory. Replenishing the herd, growing the livestock. He had no illusions as to what these mortals meant to him and his ilk: food. To think otherwise always invited pain and death. He could never forget what he was.

Nevertheless, he couldn't stay away. Curiosity drew him, almost more than the drive to feed. It seemed like an eternity since he had felt anything more engrossing than bloodlust.

For the life of him--or unlife, he thought wryly--he didn't know how or why he found his feet pacing the perimeter of the inn, night after night. Staying to the shadows, listening and watching, always on the outside looking in. And inside, a comely pink-cheeked wife rocked her first born daughter, her innkeeper husband doting on them both, smiling indulgently. The scene brought up the ghost of a memory...the day long ago he had held his own first born, a tiny boy-child, head crowned with ashen gold, his son Herbert, his heir apparent.

He turned away from the sight of domestic bliss, forced himself back to his eyrie, to his world of night, to his family of darkness.

Why wallow in the past, which could not be altered? Why waste even one waking moment on the light he would never see again…other than the tempting thought of THE last sunrise, glorious and searing, before a blessed nothingness….

He wanted to forget. Only one existence remained now.

Yet, four months later, he clung to the roof of the inn in the dead of night, considering the attic window. It was unlocked, cracked open to let in the warm spring air. It was the work of a moment to slip inside, to glide down the ladder onto the landing of the second floor. He already knew where innkeeper Chagal and his wife Rebecca slept, and he knew their little daughter slept in the small adjoining room, a makeshift nursery. His nose wrinkled at the lingering smell of garlic wafting up from below, but mercifully the bulbs of the "stinking rose" were absent upstairs. He felt a slight smile quirk his mouth as he recalled the loud argument some months ago. It had ended with Chagal grumbling but removing every trace of the noxious plant from the bedrooms as Rebecca trailed after him, glaring if he missed even a clove.

A few moments later and he stood in the nursery, drawing back the curtains and opening the window. Slight rustling sounds greeted his ears as he turned toward the crib sitting in the center of the small room. He scooped up the baby-- _Sarah_ her parents had named her--and held her up in the moonlight.

"Hello little one," he breathed. Small insistent feet thumped against his chest. He gave a low throaty laugh, charmed. He could already see the beauty she would become in the curves of her face, the underlying structure of cheekbone and jawline. Wavy reddish-brown curls stood up every which way on her skull.

When her face screwed up and her body began to arch in his hands, he soothed her. Crooning soft and low, a wordless lullaby. She calmed, unclenching her fists, greenish eyes regarding him gravely. For a long moment he gazed back, her head engulfed in one taloned hand, her body nestled in the other. Her heartbeat fluttered against his palm, rapid as a bird's. So small, so helpless. How easy it would be to snuff out such a life, how simple. But he was sick of death, sick of the black thing he carried inside, a part of him yet not. Instead, he breathed in her scent, milky and sweet, opening his mouth to taste it better, letting his tongue slip past the curb of his canines. He settled her back into her crib and closed the window, letting the curtains fall. In the familiar darkness he slipped back out the way he had come in.

He tried to stay away then, tried to distract himself with other, darker amusements. Still the strange hunger prodded him, _her_ hunger, growing with each passing season, each passing year. Again and again that yearning drew him, until he gave up resisting.


	2. Angel-6

One crisp evening, in the fall of her sixth year of life, Sarah stood at her bedroom window staring up at the full moon. Von Krolock, hidden in the shadow of an adjoining building, gazed at her small upturned face lit by moon-glow, rapt as if listening to distant music. Long tousled hair drifted over her shoulders like a cloak, warm auburn against white nightgown.

"Sarah! What are you doing out of bed?" Rebecca Chagal bustled over, wrapped a shawl around her daughter. "You should be asleep."

"Mama, the night is singing. Can you hear it?"

"What are you talking about, child?"

"Sometimes an angel comes and sings to me at night."

"A what?"

Von Krolock smiled. So she did hear his voice from the cover of darkness, pitched almost below the range of human hearing, singing sweet lullabies to float her into sleep, old ancient folk songs, love songs, songs of comfort when she wept bitter tears. A demon he might be, but apparently he could be an angel too.

"An angel? Don't speak of such things. What would an angel of God have to do with a simple girl like you?"

"I heard him," Sarah insisted. "Singing..." She lifted her voice in a sweet treble, the first verse of an old _cantec de leagan_ *.

"Shhh! You'll wake someone! That's enough of your nonsense. Back to bed you go."

Von Krolock frowned. Modulating his voice with care, he echoed Sarah's melody, a bass counterpoint, very low and very quiet, a mere whisper on the air.

"What was that?" Rebecca's usually confident voice held a slight quaver.

"See, Mama? I told you!" Sarah shook off her mother's hands and leaned far out over the windowsill, eyes searching the black, her gaze flitting over his hiding place without recognition.

"It must be the wind." Rebecca tugged her daughter back inside. "Come now, to bed. Don't tempt the things of the night."

Von Krolock chuckled as the window closed shut over the sounds of Sarah's protests.

_Too late, Rebecca._

Of course, none of this felt particularly proper, to be spying on a girl, a child, but neither did it feel particularly wrong. What were morals and societal considerations to an amoral creature such as himself? Wasn't he damned and cursed already? What harm to take interest in an innocent life untainted by death and insatiable appetite?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cantec de leagan-- song of the cradle (lullaby), Romanian
> 
> A/N: "I'm just an angel, Driving blindly Through this world; I'm just a slave here, At the mercy of a girl…" When the Body Speaks, Depeche Mode


	3. Only a Rose-7

On the eve of Sarah's seventh birthday von Krolock spent a good while in the tangled wilderness of one of the castle gardens. The heady fragrance of flowers and green growing things hung heavy in the still humid air. Lightning flashed in the distance behind the dark bulk of mountains, followed by the grumble of thunder.

The rain started as he took his leave, a soft patter that became a steady sprinkle as he ran through the trees, following the twisting road down into the village. By the time he swarmed up the face of the inn it was a good downpour. Inside, every room for rent was full of sleeping bodies. Not a huge surprise as Koukol, his hunchbacked servant, had told him of this trading party traveling from village to village, peddling various wares. Apparently the rain had driven them indoors for the night.

He sensed little Sarah asleep as well, although it was a restless sleep. He tried the window to her room. Locked and latched. Hmm, this was turning out to be a much more complicated undertaking than he had first imagined. He laughed at the sight he must make, a dark wet splotch stuck to the wooden front of the inn. His mantle and long hair hung in a sodden mass against his back.

There was nothing for it; in through the unlocked attic.

Inside he did his best to ignore the scent of prey, which proved difficult as every breath into his sinuses and mouth brought in air saturated with the taste and smell of men, women and children, each with a singular character and flavor. The rhythmic swish and pulse of multiple heartbeats added into the mix didn't help matters any. _Focus. Do what you came to do and get out._ With preternatural stealth he crept into Sarah's room. She slept curled into a ball in the middle of a small bed shoved against the opposite wall. From an inner fold of his cloak von Krolock brought out one perfect white rose, just starting to open, which he laid on the dresser, next to the simple wooden comb with four broken teeth, and the brush with the bristles well worn and starting to lay flat.

As he turned to leave, a sudden flash of light illuminated the room. Barely a breath later followed a deafening crash of thunder. Sarah cried out in fitful sleep.

He stopped and looked back, debating with himself. Rivulets of water dripped from his clothes onto the planked floor. Too dangerous to linger, risking discovery, surrounded by easy blood...such a fool's errand, what was he thinking?

Another whimper, another muffled cry.

With a silent sigh von Krolock stepped to the bedside and dropped to his knees.

"Hush," he breathed. Carefully, oh so carefully, he skimmed over the turbulent surface of her emotions, leaving peace and calm in his wake. "It's only the wind, the storm," he crooned, "only the night running wild…."

The worried wrinkle on her brow smoothed, the flicker beneath her eyelids slowed. She turned toward him, one hand reaching out of the covers.

Gently he tugged the rough but warm wool blanket back over her outstretched arm.

"Happy birthday _star copil_ \--star-child." He permitted himself one touch, one finger gliding across her flushed velvet cheek.

On the way back home, he rode the wind, high in the storm, through the rain and mist, utterly drenched and soaked and not caring, the night running wild under his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> star copil-- star child, Romanian, Babylon online translator
> 
> A/N: "And he was just like a great dark wing, within the wings of a storm; I think I had met my match, he was singing..." Sara, Fleetwood Mac


	4. Beautiful Child-12

The secretive visits continued, a guilty pleasure. Time passed, and von Krolock noted with some surprise how fast Sarah transformed into a lissome child in pigtails, losing her babyish chubbiness. She grew into a girl who loved to dance and sing, but who also possessed a thoughtful and inward side as well. Often, after putting out the candle for the night, she would sit at the window gazing out into the ancient forests and mountains, looking up at the moon and stars. He felt her wonder, with a current of longing underneath, and her clear eyes seemed to see far more than the physical reality before her.

How strange, to see something timeless in eyes so young.  
 Each birthday, from the time she turned seven, he continued to leave one white rose, usually just inside the window sash. He avoided entering if at all possible. Sarah tried to stay awake each birthday eve, to catch him in the act, all to no avail. He would grin at her frustration as she lay still and quiet, breathing deeply, pretending to be asleep. That never worked, of course. He always managed to wait until she succumbed to sleep, although once--last year on her 11th birthday-- dawn was tinting the sky to blue as he shot back to his sanctuary, like a bat out of hell.

By this time he wasn't overly concerned that these small infrequent tokens would be discovered as a threat. Rebecca had scolded Sarah after the first rose, assuming her daughter had taken the bloom from a neighbor's garden without permission. Tight-lipped, Sarah had hidden every rose from that time onward, in a small wooden box she hid under a loose floor board. On more than one occasion von Krolock had seen her sneak out the box after her parents had tucked her in, removing the lid, touching the dried petals with gentle fingertips, finally leaning over to take a deep breath through her nose. At those times he savored her quiet delight in the lingering perfume, and her puzzled curiosity. For awhile he could almost forget what and who he was, engrossed in the small happenings of her life.

One entertaining evening Sarah held a wrestling match with her unruly mane of hair. One hundred strokes of a brush was the usual evening toilet for most girls and women, but for Sarah such a routine proved to be a Herculean task, a true exercise in frustration.

He almost laughed aloud when she broke the wooden comb in half and spent the next half hour picking splinters and several comb teeth from her half dry hair. Then he came dangerously close to falling from his precarious perch when she next ended up snarling the brush in her hair so completely she was unable to untangle it right away.

A faint sense of guilt colored his amusement, but he hadn't experienced such a pleasant diversion in years.

He made up for it two weeks later, on the eve of her 12th birthday. While she sat at a late dinner, he slipped in through the window (now easily opened since he had adjusted the lock & latch) and left not only the customary snowy rose on her pillow, but also a small bundle bound in silk underneath the same pillow.

Back outside he stationed himself for the best view, practically hanging upside down from the eaves, close enough to see her reaction. Luckily it was quiet and late enough that no one would notice a darker than normal shadow high up on the inn's face.  
 There he waited, letting his mind drift.

Procuring this particular gift had proven easy, as his son had been a willing accomplice to this task, with his attention to nuance and detail. “I know just the thing,” Herbert had said while tapping one of his sharp canines with a long manicured nail, a mannerism that he had picked up from his father. “Simple and elegant, not too fussy.”

Von Krolock was grateful for the help, and even more grateful that his son did not pry any further. The only other remark this evening had been, “Glad to see you’ve found a new hobby, _Tăticul_ *. It’s refreshing not to find you haunting the castle like a forlorn ghost. Let me know if you find someone I might like to… _observe_.”

Von Krolock snorted softly. Herbert had not the patience for something so mundane. He would probably say something like, “ _This_ is what you’ve been doing for the past 12 years? How boring.” In fact, most of the time, von Krolock himself didn’t know why he continued looking in on Sarah, like a naturalist studying a rare exotic flower. He only knew it pleased him in some indefinable way, and that was reason enough for now. She was only a child, after all, and he meant no harm, only wished for her the simple joys of a normal human life, something forever lost to him.

He snapped to attention upon hearing light footsteps racing up the stairs. “Yes mama, papa, Iwon’tforgettosaymyprayersgoodnight!” she called before bursting into her room. Closing the door, she leaned back against it, breath coming fast. Her anticipation was palpable as she went around the enclosed space with her guttering candle casting quivering shadows on the walls and floor. She inspected the window frame closely before opening the casement, heaving a heavy sigh before drifting over to the dresser. Another sigh, shoulders slumping. Feet dragging, she walked over to her bed and plunked herself on the edge before reaching over to set the candle holder on the bedside table. She froze mid-turn, and von Krolock knew she had caught sight of the rose.

“Oh….” She breathed. Down went the candle as she cradled the bloom in both hands, stroking over the petals with her thumbs. “So pretty,” she murmured, taking a delicate sniff. She brushed the rose over her lips. “Soft…” Smiling, she toppled over sideways, head hitting the pillow. She lay there for a moment before popping up with a soft exclamation.

Setting the flower aside she drew out the hidden bundle. She ran her hands over the smooth pale red silk, again and again, before lifting the parcel to her face to inhale deeply and rub it against her cheek. Only then, while cradling it in her lap, did she untie the knot and fold the cloth back. Her eyes widened, her breath caught. She slowly lifted the ivory and tortoiseshell comb, then the brush and matching hand mirror, both with grips of silver, examining them closely in turns. Delicate vines and leaves were engraved in the metal, the only adornment to the precious materials which were much more durable than the wood ones she kept wearing out. With quick fingers she undid the long single braid that hung to the small of her back, and experimentally tried the comb at her hair. A few strokes, then she switched to the brush.

She didn't stay long at this task before suddenly gathering up the bundle and rose. She padded over to the window and pushed it fully open. Von Krolock stayed very still in the shadow of the eaves; Sarah stood just a few scant feet away. For a moment she looked out into the night, a slight breeze playing through her undone hair and rippling her dress against her slight boyish frame. She reached out a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled.

“I know you’re out there,” she whispered. “Thank you.” She hugged the gifts to her chest with her other arm. “They’re beautiful.” One lone tear traveled down her cheek, leaving a clear glistening trail. So unlike his tears, which were tinged with blood. She bowed her head, hair curtaining her face.

What would it be like, von Krolock wondered, to hold her hand, and have her look into his eyes without fear? With great finesse, using the touch beyond human senses, he grazed invisible fingertips over her palm, her cheek, finally resting on the crown of her head like a priest giving benediction.

Sarah's open fingers closed, as if she were clasping an unseen hand. She lifted her head, eyes still shut, as a smile slowly curved her mouth. A clear thread of sound came from her throat as she began to sing, low and quiet.

" _Esti ingerul meu_  
You're my angel  
_Esti tot ce mi-am dorit_  
You're all I ever wanted  
_Si iti promit, n-am sa te pierd_  
And I promise, I won't lose you  
_Esti ingerul meu_  
You're my angel  
_Si daca ma iubesti_  
And if you love me  
_Eu te primesc sa ma pazesti_.  
I receive you to protect me." **

Von Krolock slowly withdrew his unseen touch. No angel he, save an angel of death, keeping watch over a trusting child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tăticul - Daddy, Romanian, Babylon online translator
> 
> A/N: "Beautiful child, Beautiful child, You are a beautiful child, And I am a fool once more..." Beautiful Child, Fleetwood Mac
> 
> **Esti Ingerul Meu - You're My Angel, by Directia 5, Romanian. (Yes, I totally cheated. This is not an old song but a modern one.)
> 
> The idea for the brush and comb gifts came from reading an anonymous discussion on Tumblr regarding von Krolock's motives behind his actions. The writer noticed Sarah's hand mirror and brush, which had grips of silver, in the German/Austrian productions, and speculated if they were gifts from the Count, as Sarah could not afford to buy them for herself and certainly it was highly unlikely that they came as gifts from her parents.


	5. Moontime-16

It was a warm summer evening, and von Krolock lay on the roof of the inn. A large gathering was present downstairs engaged in some kind of celebration, and Chagal had banished Sarah to her bedroom upstairs, something he did with amazing frequency since his daughter had started to blossom from gangly girl child to young woman.

Not that von Krolock minded. _By all means, Chagal, protect your daughter's virtue if you can. You can't protect her from me_. That is, if he intended her harm, which he did not.

Without sight he knew Sarah stood at her window, looking out into the night, pining and pouting. Angry, a wild bird in a cage, who had pleaded to be allowed to watch the festivities, only to be punished when she tried to defy her father.

"I will escape," she muttered. "Somehow, someway, I will leave this place. There has to be more than this. I KNOW there is more than this!" She thumped the sill with her fist.

Discordant, her frustration jangled against his nerves, before slowly fading. She sighed. Eventually he heard her walk away, then return back. Subtle sounds, familiar sounds, of letting down her hair...ah yes, the nightly ritual of combing and brushing. Over the years of keeping watch over her, he had learned the ordinary routines of her daily life and drew quiet enjoyment from them. Her resignation gave way to wistfulness. He could hear everything, every intake of breath, every heart beat--he counted 72 in the last minute--every stroke of the brush that he had gifted her with scratching along her scalp, gliding through her hair...he drowsed as she sang softly to herself. Dreamy, peaceful. Gradually that feeling dwindled away, replaced by a vague unease.

She drew a sudden breath, gave a little cry. Pain. Shocked recognition. Instantly alert, von Krolock slid closer to the edge, peeked over. A small hand, white-knuckled, gripped the window sill. Was she ill? Sick? Odd, she seemed just fine a moment ago. He reached out his senses and felt a clench in his lower abdomen, shadow to her discomfort. Then it hit him like a fist in the face. In the warm still air the sweet metallic scent of blood drifted into his nostrils. Complex, female, and hormonal. Menstrual blood. Virginal blood. _Her_ blood.

_No longer a child_.

Slowly he levered himself up on his hands and knees, his body tensing, gathering itself, a cat ready to spring. One leap and he would be in her room. He could take her there, right above the noisy raucous crowd, and no one would know until it was too late. In reflex he sucked in breath after breath, drinking in the pungent bouquet, a delicious delirium that called to him, begging him to taste it, a seductress's siren song. Iron and rust coated his tongue, thick and tart. Saliva flooded his mouth. Unbidden, the darkness within reared up, sending tendrils snaking throughout his body, filling his chest, his throat, his head, pressing heavy at the back of his eyes. He shuddered as his long fingers dug into the rough thatch of the roof. The roots of his canines ached in time with the sudden pulse in his groin. He wanted, oh how he wanted…he wanted by everything holy and unholy to kneel between her legs and taste her, drink from her, _know_ her, make her scream in ecstasy. And then he wanted…he wanted to _cover_ her, feel the blood smeared hot on his body…images flashed across his vision, spattered with red.

Bowing his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed the tide to subside. Even after all these years it was a struggle to maintain control. He could barely swallow between the panting and the saliva dripping from his open mouth. When a breeze blew over him, catching and lifting the hair that flowed over his back and sides like a second cloak, he drew a deep breath. Mountains. Pines. Water. Earth.

_No_. He would not take by force that which he coveted. And covet Sarah he did, with a bewildering fierce thirst that ran like quicksilver in his veins.

He groaned, deep in the back of his throat. He had to get out of here, right now. Steal away, fly away, with no one the wiser, except himself. For one agonizing moment he hesitated, then with a great bound hurdled into the starlit sky.

That was much, much too close.

He fell upon the first warm living thing he found, a stag grazing in a mountain meadow.

When he finally returned to the castle, covered with gore and reeking of animal, Herbert took one look at him and wisely stayed out of his way.

Just as well, given the foul mood that possessed him.

To the rest of his malefic congregation he issued a warning. _Sarah Chagal, the innkeeper's daughter--she's mine. Touch her at your peril._ Spoken in a soft deliberate voice laced with menace. They bowed down low, fear in their eyes, afraid of his wrath. As well they should be, he being the strongest and most vicious of them all. He needed only a whisper of an excuse, one hint of defiance, to tear someone apart. He had done it before, he had no doubt he would do it again. In fact, he wanted to do it now. But no one defied him. No one challenged him. They all slunk away back to the cemetery, like whipped dogs with tails between their legs.

Von Krolock curled his lips in a silent snarl. Now he was both hungry and aroused, a dangerous combination. Only human blood would soothe the gnawing emptiness, and there wasn't enough time to go back out to hunt. As for the other...well, self abuse was not his sport of choice, but the ache had long ago crossed into the realm of pain and he needed release.

It was not a good night.

He stayed away for the following week, though every fiber of his wretched being urged him to return, and no longer from any simple innocent curiosity. The tenor of his intentions had shifted into something ominous and much more familiar. All except for the intensity, which rocked him to the core. Whatever happened to his discipline, his restraint?

_No longer a child. God help him_.

The one thing he did do was have the apothecary make up an infusion of willow bark which was secretly delivered to Sarah through various circuitous channels via a midwife (well paid for her silence and discretion) with instructions as to its use.

Every night of that week he went hunting at a large distant township in the opposite direction from the village. Hoping for more challenging prey, he stalked killers and other such criminals, ultimately ripping out their throats in a messy, violent orgy of blood that barely slaked his thirst. The rest of the time he shut himself in the library or his study and brooded.

It was not a good week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: average age of menstruation in European girls back in the late 1800's (late 19th century when this story takes place) was 16.6 years. 
> 
> A/N: "It is her moon time, When there's iron in the air, A rusted essence, Woman may I know you there...Unholy water, Sanguine addiction...Don't spill a drop dear, Let me kiss the curse away, Yourself in my mouth, Will you leave me with your taste?" Wolf Moon, Type O Negative


	6. All Else is Hollow-16

In the end it was Herbert, with his insufferable cold vampire logic and his lust for life, who swayed von Krolock. His son's outward flamboyance only served to mask a keen mind, with even keener powers of observation. Not much missed his notice, especially anything concerning his father. Near the end of the week he cornered von Krolock in the study and ferreted out the reason for his discontent. 

"Bleeding?" Herbert asked. "Umm, I can only imagine how delectable she must have smelled." He gave a husky hum of appreciation and licked his lips. 

Von Krolock grunted noncommittally. He felt dizzy recalling how close he had come to losing all control. That had been unexpected, not to mention disconcerting. 

"Why shouldn't you have her, _Tata*_? You told me she wants to be free--give her freedom. Take her away from the mundane life she's destined for otherwise, a life she chafes under, that she doesn't want anyway. Whether you drink her dry or make her one of us, you'll take her away from all that. You know you want to. Stop fighting it."

Von Krolock looked at his son, standing lithe and slender in the firelight, golden and as perfect as a Greek statue. Hair so blond it was near white fell straight to his waist, glowing against a soft gray jacket. Shadows flickered over delicate androgynous features.  Devil's advocate, clothed in unearthly beauty, as light as his father was dark.

"There is enough pain in the world without me adding to it."

"Pain?" Herbert snorted. "It would be a severe mercy. With one crimson kiss you would preserve her, make her as constant and unchanging as a star in the firmament. Or would you rather let her live that life and wither away into decrepitude and finally dust?"

Von Krolock leaned back in his chair. The armrests creaked under his clenched hands. He stared unseeing into the flames.

How could he condemn a child of light to the endless night? How could he deny Sarah the joys of bearing children and raising a family? Or deprive her of the glorious sun and more than that, God's grace? He had never had a choice; God forsook him the moment he woke to darkness, and blood crossed his lips. He was the perversion of that grace, not a savior and not a deliverer. The only communion he could offer was the communion of blood and the grave. 

Perhaps that was always meant to be her fate, from the moment he stood witness to her birth, from the moment his shadow fell upon her in her crib. 

"What did you expect to happen?" Herbert asked, as if reading his father's mind. "Did you think she would remain unchanged after hearing your voice all her life?" His icy blue gaze sharpened. "Did you… _touch_ her?" 

Von Krolock knew full well that Herbert wasn't referring to physical touch. As if in answer to that thought, he felt the merest whisper at the edge of his awareness, which he immediately blocked. "Stay out of my head, boy."

"Heaven and hell!" Herbert swore. "Your voice AND your _touch_? She's ruined--she'll never be satisfied with a normal human life now." He stalked over from the great stone fireplace and gracefully seated himself in the chair opposite von Krolock. "You have to finish it. Kill her, change her, just decide and stop torturing yourself." His head tilted as he regarded his father.

"Though it might be better to bring her across," he said in a thoughtful tone, "if you intend to do more than just consume her." Herbert smiled slyly, a wicked light glimmering in his eyes. "The world is still fallen. It is not yet time for the wolf to dwell with the lamb, nor for the leopard to lie down with the kid.* What makes you think it will be different this time?"

_Because this time he felt something more than just hunger and lust._

But what price freedom? Would Sarah be willing to pay it? Would she be cognizant enough to realize she would be trading one prison for another?

"I will consider it," von Krolock said at last. He was tired of fighting with himself. "But only if she chooses what I offer. _"_

_Then everything I ask of her, she must give, freely. Then where I lead, she must follow, of her own accord._

"Good." Herbert said. He grinned. "You wait much longer and her ignorant parents will marry her off to the first acceptable suitor, likely some dull boorish farmer or woodcutter." He gave a delicate shudder. "If I had to make the choice I'd choose you in a heartbeat. The girl would be mad to resist a handsome devil like yourself."

"Devil is right," von Krolock muttered. "If she has any sense, any sanity, she will refuse to have anything to do with me." _As if there wasn't enough blood on his hands already._

Again Herbert smiled his sharp edged smile. "Like calls to like, dear Father. I wager she will accept. When will you ask?"

"I'm not sure."

"What are you waiting for?"

"She is just a girl."  
  
"Not anymore," Herbert pointed out.

"Too young." Von Krolock shook his head. _And much too innocent._ Not that that had ever stopped him before. The time was not yet right.

"Define 'young'." His golden son laughed, long canines glinting. "That's what you said about me, as I recall. Good thing I was devious enough at 20 to convince you. Besides, youth is useful in certain situations. If need be, Sarah can pose as your daughter."

Von Krolock slowly straightened up in his chair and glared at his son.

"Oh, I see…." Herbert shrugged, an impish look slanting up from under his eyelashes. "But I was so hoping for a baby sister."  
  
"Herbert," von Krolock growled. "Don't try my patience."

"Sorry, _Tăticul_ ***." But he didn't sound sorry in the least.

Later, von Krolock stood on the high wall walk between the north facing castle towers and debated with himself. The half moon sailed high in the heavens, only slightly dimming the glitter of stars. The wind's breath from the mountains hinted of the winter cold to come. 

What did he intend to do?

He had watched over the years, waiting, waiting, patiently waiting… for what? He had done it without thought, almost by instinct. Whether it was the predator or the man within or a combination of both he didn't know. What he did know were Sarah's dreams, her desires, her heart, her soul. He knew her in a way deeper than flesh, though the vampire within wanted that too, as well along with her blood. But not yet.

He would continue to wait, wait for the dark seed he planted in Sarah's heart to bloom. Wait until she truly heard his voice, the voice that had sung her to sleep as a child, the voice that insinuated itself into all her dreams, waking and otherwise.

On the eve of her 17th birthday, he left a blood red rose on her window sill, instead of snowy white.

_No longer a child._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tata - Father, in Romanian, Babylon online translator
> 
> ***Tăticul - Daddy, Romanian, Babylon online translator
> 
> **Isaiah 11:6, King James Version: The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.
> 
> A/N: "To the soul's desires The body listens, What the flesh requires Keeps the heart imprisoned, What the spirit seeks The mind will follow, When the body speaks All else is hollow; I'm just an angel Driving blindly Through this world; I'm just a slave here, At the mercy Of a girl…You keep me waiting For the promise That is mine, Please stop debating, Please stop wasting your time…" When the Body Speaks, Depeche Mode


	7. Dans de Moarte*-17

Von Krolock watched from the gloom underneath a stand of beech trees, just beyond the edges of the growing crowd. He had tracked Sarah's scent here upon finding her room empty. He kept the hood of his cloak up, to keep his face hidden. Drawing any closer would attract notice, given his stature and the fine material of his raiment.

The gypsies danced in the moonlight on the outskirts of the village, in the shadows of the trees near the edges of the thick dark forest. Such groups of wandering nomads often passed through mountain villages in their travels, sometimes stopping to ply their wares and share their music and singing, like tonight. Villagers watched, gathered around a clearing bordered by a circle of stones and torches mounted on long poles. Two bonfires burned, providing plenty of light as well as making the cast shadows even darker. And above it all shone the bright swollen disc of the moon, a harvest moon, tinged with gold and red.

Sarah danced with the gypsies. Laughing, twirling her skirts, led by a slender young olive-skinned Romani. A large number of her fellow villagers clapped their hands and stomped their feet, keeping time to the rhythm.

Wild child Sarah, stealing out to play unbeknownst to her parents who slumbered in their beds.

Von Krolock admired Sarah's spirit, her spark of rebellion, but not the venue she chose to exercise it in. He didn't like the way some of the swarthy men looked at her, the beautiful flaming flower in their midst. No, he didn't like that at all.

He could see well enough from where he stood, given his unnatural visual acuity. And oh, Sarah was a lovely vision tonight, with her glory of fiery hair and elegant limbs, light yet sure on her feet, all unconscious beauty and grace. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

He could almost feel her in his arms, matching him step for step, her hunger growing to mirror his own. He could almost feel his hand on her slender waist, guiding and leading her. She wouldn't resist, he would capture and hold her dark emerald gaze, and she would offer to him the fair pale curve of her neck, as graceful as a swan's.…

Von Krolock splayed a long-fingered hand over his solar plexus. Right there, underneath the lean hard muscle of his upper abdomen, a curious sensation, similar to blood hunger--yet not. The more he watched Sarah dancing with unbridled joy, the more it tugged at him. It was sister to the feeling he'd had when his wife told him she was with child, and on the day he first held Herbert in his arms.

The music swirled through the cool air, fast-paced and passionate. Above it all, the lone beguiling voice of a violin sang wild and untamed--nothing like the stately minuets and waltzes von Krolock had to endure in his past human lifetime, and still endured during the annual midnight balls at his castle.

This was like the reels he had danced in his youth, when he managed to escape the stern and watchful presence of his father. During those rare times he had been free of the weight of his birthright and all the attendant responsibilities, able to hide the fact of his nobility and be accepted as one of the common populace, out to have a good time.

He smiled slightly at the memory, free of guilt and pain. It was several lifetimes ago, as distant and foreign as an old story read from a dusty memoir.

In any event, it was much more difficult to hide who and what he was now. The paleness of his skin, the coolness of his touch, the dangerous teeth, and the pitiless gaze of a predator, as mesmerizing as that of a cobra's…all these things gave him away. Not to mention the villagers knew full well who and what dwelled in the castle up the mountain. An uneasy unspoken truce lay between them. Don't bother us, we won't bother you. Or, more like: don't kill us and we won't kill you.

Truce or no truce, he wanted to hunt now. Besides, it didn't count if his victim was a transient, just passing through. The music, the scents around him, and the movement of prey aroused every hunting instinct of his vampire nature. People were pairing up, joining the dance, while more showed up by the minute to watch.

Such crowds could be dangerous. There was strength in numbers, and here he was far outnumbered. But risk provided opportunity. The bustling activity, noise and music provided an effective cover. No need for an elaborate stalk. In this embarrassment of riches, a victim could be easily peeled from the herd and taken down without notice. He swallowed in reflex, his body tensing.

Restless, he shifted farther back into the shadows. The paired dancing had ended and the group coalesced into a circle, the beginning of the traditional Romanian _hora_. Sarah stood linked arm in arm into the round, flushed and smiling. Von Krolock scanned the crowd, threw out his enhanced senses like a net. No threat. He could hunt and feed and return to watch over her. With one last reluctant glance --he hated taking his eyes off her--he slunk into the woods.

Behind the gypsy camp, by the side of an outlying wagon, he crept up on a dozing elderly man. How this human managed to sleep through all the noise von Krolock had no idea, but by pressing over the large nerve along the right side of the throat he sent the grizzled man into unconsciousness. As much as he preferred the neck, he wanted more to be discreet, so he bent over the tender crease of the right elbow. He tasted salt against his tongue before the strike, one canine nicking open the vein that rested close to the surface of the skin. Hot blood filled his mouth, as potent and shocking as his first time at a kill. He moaned over the flow, fighting not to yield completely to bloodlust. No killing, just take enough to blunt the hunger, soothe the hollow ache--

With a jerk, von Krolock lifted his head. What was that? A faint cry, off in the distance, beyond the heat and light of the festive dancing. Fear prickled over his skin, escalating into terror. _Sarah_!

He was up and running, flying along the edges of the encampment, weaving through the thick trees and brush. He tracked the twisted rope of anger and fear past one of the bonfires to where the light started to grow dim, through a thicket and into a small clearing.

In the moonlight, two figures struggling. Sarah, on her knees, a man over her, the collar of her dress ripped, the man's hands inside her bodice--

Without a sound von Krolock leapt forward, grabbed the man's shoulders and ripped him away. A startled curse and then the man whirled around with unexpected speed, bent and thrust upward with his left hand. A stabbing white hot pain bloomed along von Krolock's side, in the middle of his right ribcage. He coughed, tasting sudden blood in his mouth, his own blood, and his breath hitched. With a snarl he struck the man across the jaw, the head snapping back and to the side. The man staggered then crumpled to the ground, a short handled knife falling from his loose grasp. Von Krolock followed, dropping to his knees. He ignored the wetness soaking through his shirt as he reached for the dagger that had wounded him. He flung it away into a tangle of brush.

He grimaced. Blood. Sprinkled on the grass and fallen leaves, trickling from where his nails had slashed the man's cheek, from his own wound and mouth, and from Sarah's scraped hands and knees. The metallic scent mixed with other smells permeating the air: acrid sweat and lust and the sharp tang of fear. From Sarah floated the sweet scent of roses, and a sense of overwhelming relief, like warm balm over raw flesh.

Von Krolock tugged the cowl of his mantle back over his head with a bloody hand.

"Go home," he told her, and menace, hunger and anger growled in his voice, dropping it a full octave below its normal range.

"But…" She stared at him as her hands gathered the edges of her torn clothing to cover the pale swell of her breasts. He knew she was trying to see into the shadows beneath the hood of his cloak.

He wanted to reach into her head and force her to do his bidding without question, but he shied from the act.

"You saved me." Her voice quavered. "Th--thank you." She got to her feet and stood swaying. She took a tentative step forward. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Though uncomfortable, the wound was closing, knitting together with inhuman speed.

"But you're--you're bleeding…" Von Krolock heard the man stirring, beginning to awaken from unconsciousness. He tamped down the involuntary snarl rising to his lips. His muscles seethed with barely restrained violence.

"Please leave," he said, trying to gentle his voice. "This man will trouble you no more." He would make sure of that. He would tear this  _găoază**_ apart, limb from limb--

Faintly, from the direction of the dance, in the pauses between strains of music, came the sound of frantic voices calling out Sarah's name--her parents, searching for their errant daughter.

  
Her head turned and tilted as she listened. She looked back at him, eyes intent and unafraid. Puzzled, yes, but with a hint of realization, of wonder.

"You," she whispered. "Who are y--"

"Go!" he roared, using the voice that demanded absolute obedience. He sprang to his feet, glaring down at her from his great height. She gasped, scrambling backwards, then turned and bolted.

Damn the girl and her curiosity!

But at least this way he knew she would be safe.

A low groan at his feet drew his attention back to the matter at hand. This was not the young partner Sarah had danced with earlier but an older male, in poorer clothes, with a bulky and muscular build, someone who did hard labor for a living. Von Krolock vacillated between wanting to fall on the man like a ravening beast and wanting to draw out the death to make it as excruciating as possible.

Just the thought of those hands, those dirty hands with their unkept nails touching Sarah in such an intimate way…a curtain of red dropped down over his vision, staining the world scarlet. His fingers curled, his lips lifted from his teeth. A low rumble started in his chest. The things he wanted to do would make this worm bleed out too fast. What would make this scum, this filth, suffer the most? He felt his twisted mouth slide into a wide grin. Yes, there was a much better way. But first…

Von Krolock reached down, grabbed the man by the collar with one hand and headed deeper into the forest, farther away from the festivities and any listening ears. He took no care to avoid the rocks, thorny brush and fallen debris littering his path, taking grim pleasure at every bump and jostle of the load he dragged. When he had gone over a small rise and out into a small moonlit meadow, he dropped his burden.

The man's eyes fluttered open, the cloudiness fading from his unfocused gaze, replaced by sober clarity.

"I wasn't going to hurt her," he croaked, sitting up and scooting backwards, trying to get some purchase beneath his feet.

"Of course you weren't," von Krolock replied in a soft even voice, the voice that his flock knew to fear, that was far more dangerous than any strident yell or roar, the voice that meant death.

"Really, it's not polite to force yourself on an innocent young woman." He pulled down his cowl. "How unfortunate you chose someone under my protection." He bared his teeth in a wide smile.

The man's eyes widened in shock; his body trembled.

" _Strigoi_ ***!" He whispered hoarsely, crossing himself. "Stay away or I'll kill you!" Suddenly another dagger appeared in his right hand, slid from inside his left boot. He managed to stand but his legs shook. Von Krolock idly wondered how many other weapons this man had secreted about his person. Not that it mattered either way.

He laughed. "How can the living kill the undead?" Fast as a striking viper he seized the human's right hand, disarming him with a flick of a wrist. He bent the man's thumb back until the tendons tore and the joint popped. The man screamed.

"Quiet," von Krolock growled. Methodically he fractured every finger on the hand as the human whimpered and groveled before him. Tears coursed down the lined face, mixing with snot running from the man's nose. "Stop, please stop! I'll do anything you want, anything--"

"How dare you touch her," von Krolock hissed. The begging disgusted him. He started on the other hand. The man twisted and flailed his free arm in a useless attempt to block the assault. Von Krolock didn't stop until every finger that had touched Sarah's skin was broken.

He slid his grasp up the man's forearm. One sharp yank and twist dislocated the shoulder with a gratifying moist, popping sound.

Shrieking, the man jerked and tried to pull away. Another wrench and von Krolock pulled the human into the air with a great leap, clearing the trees as he sailed swiftly up the mountain to his castle.

Herbert was waiting in the courtyard when he arrived, most likely drawn by the screams. Behind him, at a respectful distance, stood the others, slavering, mouths filled with sharp teeth.

"Make him suffer," von Krolock said, dropping his burden.

"Looks like he's already suffering," Herbert replied, the pupils of his eyes dilating as he looked down at the writhing human. Von Krolock could hear bloodlust creeping into his son's voice.

"Not enough. Make him suffer more."

"Why?"

Von Krolock struggled to find words through the guttural growl clawing up his throat. "He tried to violate Sarah," he managed, though his voice rasped in an entirely inhuman way. "Hurt him. Keep him conscious. Take your time."

"With pleasure," his son said, and the elegance that usually laced every word, every gesture, disappeared completely as the monster came forth.

The shrieking became frantic, desperate. Von Krolock savored every snap of bone, every howl of pain, every scream, even the smell as the man wet and soiled himself in terror, and later, the almost inaudible tearing of flesh and the sounds of sucking and drinking. A thick satisfaction settled in his chest like a coiled snake. The light slowly faded from the man's eyes, wide in a face distorted with agony. Bloody froth dripped from his mouth, gaped open in a rictus of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dans de Moarte: Romanian for Dance of Death  
> hora: circle dance  
> **găoază: Romanian for asshole  
> ***strigoi: Romanian mythology, immortal vampires, believed to be the spirits of deceased people who had led troubled lives.
> 
> A/N: I drew a lot of inspiration from music for this story.   
> Gypsy Rhapsody, Bond  
> Dalalai, Bond--I think of this as Sarah's theme.  
> No. 24 Caprice in A Minor, Paganini, performed by Alexander Markov-- I consider this to be von Krolock's theme, probably because of its extreme melodic range as well as its technical complexity.
> 
> "The way you move Is meant to haunt me;The way you move To tempt and taunt me; I know you knew on the day you were born; I know somehow I should've been warned; I know I walk every midnight to dawn In Chains" In Chains, Depeche Mode


	8. My Heart is Broken-17

Afterward von Krolock ghosted back to check on Sarah. The window casement was cracked open, the curtains drawn back. Sarah lay on her side in bed, facing the wall. She wore her oldest and softest nightgown. The bedclothes covered only her upper body and her legs, not her lower back or backside. Trembling, she wept, muffling her sobs into the pillow her arms held squashed tightly to her chest. Not quiet tears, but rending sounds that shook her slight frame and made her gasp for breath.

Von Krolock hadn't seen what had happened but he could guess. Chagal didn't hesitate to physically punish his daughter if he thought she was being too bold or forward, or if any man dared to notice her. Von Krolock frowned. As if Sarah were responsible for the base desires of men. It didn't matter to her father how old she was. Tonight's escapade made for a heavier hand than usual, judging from the smarting prickles of discomfort von Krolock could sense, like sparks from a fire. 

Gently, he lay an intangible hand on her back, in-between her shoulder-blades. He had to be circumspect about touching her in this way. It called for delicacy and restraint to avoid causing undue influence, not to mention damage.  Above all, it took an iron will to resist the temptation of slipping too deeply into another mind, to twist and bend it to heel. Not all vampires could master this. Humans could be driven insane and, as Herbert had noted, it changed the person in unforeseen ways. Often the one so _touched_ lived an unfulfilled life, knowing there was something lurking just beyond the edges of sight, heard just beyond the range of hearing. Doomed to search an entire lifetime, forever unsatisfied and hungry.

But Sarah...on more than one occasion von Krolock had found her in the midst of family and neighbors and not once had she said a word, not even when she was just a little slip of a girl. A smile of surpassing sweetness would bloom over her face, like a beam of sunlight breaking through clouds. Her faraway gaze would fix upon a wall, a window, a door--toward wherever he happened to physically be at the time, and her wordless welcome would reach out like a warm hand clasping his. Her innocent acceptance salved his ravaged spirit like a balm.

However, all he wanted after this trying night was to lull Sarah into sleep, without arousing her notice. Then he intended to retire for a much needed bath; he didn't care if it was in a lake or a bathtub. Blood streaked his face, soiled his cravat and vest and stained his hands. He must look a horror, which, he thought with wry humor, was exactly what he was. At least this time his fastidious son wouldn't be making pointed remarks, as Herbert looked much the same, if not worse. At least von Krolock's shades of black hid the blood, unlike the light pastels Herbert favored. 

Smiling slightly, he sent comfort and ease of pain trickling into Sarah's consciousness with slow and artful skill. This required great finesse the more she grew attuned to his presence, like a tuning fork resonating to a specific frequency. 

Sarah's back stiffened. With a sudden twist she flipped over and stared toward the window. 

Von Krolock froze. He started to withdraw but something clung to his insubstantial hands, like fingers lacing with his fingers, gripping fiercely and stalling his retreat. Frustration slammed into him, mixed with desperation. The weight and intensity pinned him in place.

Sarah couldn't see him but she reached out nonetheless. Her face, streaked with tears and plastered with wisps of hair, glowed with heat, flushed with blood rising through dilated capillaries. He swallowed the growl rising in his throat.

Her voice followed him into his private maelstrom.  

" _Ingerul meu_ \--my angel," came her ragged whisper, "as you love me,  if you have any feeling for me, set me free." Her open hands curled into fists, her jaw tightened. "I won't beg," she murmured. "But I ask you, I pray you...take me with you. Say _yes_." 

Von Krolock pressed his forehead against the rough wood siding of the inn. He groaned under his breath. Her awareness seared his mind like a brand. 

_Do not ask for what you do not understand._

Sarah's breath caught, and her eyes closed. Her lips moved as if in silent prayer. 

"Then show me--make me understand," she breathed. 

Von Krolock shuddered.

_Do not tempt me, Sarah. I am not what you believe me to be._

Gingerly he began to withdraw his _touch_.

He heard her sudden intake of breath, heard her heart skip a beat.

"No," she whispered. She pushed herself up, nightgown sliding off one smooth shoulder, and placed her bare feet on the floor--

_NO! Be still._

She stopped moving. "Please. Don't go." Slowly she lay back down, her gaze still fixed unerringly in his direction. " _Ingerul meu_ ," she breathed, "I have to know. I have to understand. Please, do not deny me." Her voice was fierce, even though the tears continued to flow down her flushed cheeks. "Show me. I promise to be still."

Von Krolock's hands curled over the lintel as he fought to restrain himself from slipping through the window into the small bedroom. The merest suggestion, the smallest psychic push, and Sarah would be spellbound, stunned and unable to resist him. But that was not what he wanted. Far from it.

Instead, he loosened his grip on the window frame and tightened his shadow hold on Sarah, gathering her close. She yielded, eyes closing, body relaxing. Her head sank deeper into the pillow. 

Long gone was the hesitation of _touching_ her; he was lost, committed utterly to the path. If a forked road lay before Sarah, the way to light and a normal human existence lay blocked and overgrown. Only the way to darkness--to him--lay open. Let the onus be on his soul, whatever was left of it. He had to believe she would forgive him. 

With exquisite care he crossed the threshold to Sarah's inner mind, his tread as light as a passing thought. No resistance met his entrance, only a deep sigh, like someone releasing a heavy burden.

_Dream._

The edges of reality and fantasy blurred as she fought sleep. In that strange limbo, concealed in what he remembered of his human form, von Krolock bowed and offered Sarah his hand. She stared for a startled moment, then her lips curved into a delighted smile as she curtsied back and came into his arms. 

They waltzed in the castle ballroom as it had been when he walked the earth as a man. Instead of mirrors were windows, and the walls and marble floor were awash with clean, pure sunlight. Sarah glowed like a diamond, clothed in white silk against which her hair shone like fire from dark embers. She laughed, tugging at his hands, whirling like a dervish, daring him to keep up. He followed, mesmerized by her flowing grace and exuberant happiness. He allowed himself a few moments to revel in her unbridled joy before taking back the lead and guiding her toward the center of the great room. He drank in one last look of Sarah's sunlit face before letting the curtains fall and shutting out the light. The rich cloth shimmered into mirrors that reflected gaslight from glittering chandeliers.

Darkness pressed around them and shadows pooled under the spiral staircase and in the portrait alcoves. Instead of white Sarah now wore red, the dark carmine of spilled blood.  Her hair, tied and swept back, revealed bare shoulders and the long slender expanse of her neck. With a shy smile she looked up at him as her right hand gripped his left and the other tightened over his shoulder. The warmth of her body caressed the palm of his right hand curled about her waist. 

Without warning he dropped the illusion.  No more disguises, no hiding.  No disembodied voice, no whisper in the mind. He stood cloaked in ebony, dead of night his raiment, chill of death his touch. And always the endless hunger he knew burned in his eyes like a fever, swallowing the world. 

_Look upon your angel, star child. No angel I, save an angel of death._

A shadow passed over her face, as if from clouds passing over the moon. Her eyes widened, her breath slowed. Her heart skipped a beat, picking up speed. But instead of shying away her right hand lifted, reaching up to touch his cheekbone. Fingertips wandered down to skim over his mouth. _You_. A look of wonder blossomed over her features, dispersing the shadow and lighting her eyes. _I know you_. Both of her hands knotted into the long spill of his raven hair, pulling his head down. Her eyes locked on his. Her mouth opened, her warm breath filling his nostrils. _I've always known you…._

Von Krolock came to himself hanging sideways over the window, his hand clamped on the latch. Inside, Sarah lay in the shadow cast from his body blocking the bright moonlight. Her eyes were shut, brow creased in concentration, mouth parted slightly. One hand fisted into the sheets, the other stretched toward him, grasping as if for something invisible. 

_Don't leave._

Von Krolock turned away to look out over the village rooftops to the solid bulk of the surrounding mountains. The setting moon hovered over the tops of the peaks. He shook as if in the throes of an ague. Desperately he tried to ignore the fluttering heartbeat and shallow breathing only a scant few feet away, as he grappled with the slippery black thing clawing inside.

_Mine_. The sibilant snarl resonated in his skull. _Mine. Now._

The long years of waiting twisted into a welter of unbearable want.

_Take her._ The inhuman growl filled his head, reverberated throughout his tense body. _She's ripe and ready for you to pluck and taste._ The rising tide surged beneath von Krolock's breastbone, threatening to overwhelm reason and turn him into a mindless beast ruled only by appetite. He shook his head.

_I am not a monster. Part of me is still a man._ A man who once laughed and wept and knelt at prayer, grateful for the blessing of life and family, taking for granted the touch of sunlight. 

Mocking laughter sounded in his ears. _You are nothing more than a depraved animal. You are mine and you are weak._ The taste of blood flooded von Krolock's mouth, mingled with the taste of honey and milk, spiced with the scent of wild roses. The taste of Sarah. 

The metal window handle creaked in von Krolock's grasp as a low anguished whine escaped him. Long denied desire hammered against weakening fetters. He wanted to take Sarah's life and gift it back to her. He wanted to be the one to open her veins, her body, her heart.

_Do it,_ the voice urged. _Who is there to stop you? These humans, these kine on which you feed?_

Von Krolock's breath hissed through his aching teeth as his hand turned the clasp. He swung in through the casement and stepped across the floor, quieter than an owl drifting through the night on muffled wings.  At the edge of the bed he knelt, a penitent at a sacrificial altar. Sarah stirred, and her eyes slitted open, gleaming from under burnished eyelashes.

"Dream," he said in a serrated whisper, his voice sounding hollow in his ears, as if from the bottom of a well.

Gently he touched the wetness on Sarah's cheeks, catching the tears on his fingertips and lifting them to his mouth. The savor bloomed salty and subtle on his tongue, close to that of blood. He swallowed and swayed on his knees. Through half closed eyes he saw Sarah reaching up to touch his cheek. He felt fingers gliding down to his mouth. Dazed, he caught her hand and nuzzled into the scraped and bruised palm. _Oh yes._ One deep breath before he licked the heated skin, broken and seeping tiny droplets of blood. He gasped. Oh, the _taste_ of her, perfect and exquisite, far beyond what he ever could have imagined, copper and honey, flowers and sunlight--the fire of life. He rocked back and forth, her hand pressed to his mouth, her cupped fingers stroking his face with a feathery touch. 

_Why do you wait?_ the voice hissed in the back of his mind. _Take her._

A roar like rushing water filled von Krolock's ears. The familiar tidal wave of scarlet and onyx rose at the edges of his vision. Just one bloody kiss would snuff out this young life, like blowing out a candle.  No different than when she was babe in arms, vulnerable and fragile, small enough to fit into the space of his hands. Perhaps then he would be purged of this long standing obsession that wound chains around his life. Freed by the rush and spill of her life blood, hot and thick and so good….

Von Krolock rocked back on his heels and pulled her hand away. Through his panting he could hear one heartbeat, Sarah's heartbeat, which he latched on to like a drowning man clinging to a raft in a storm. He looked at his hands, blood stained, one holding her wounded hand, the other clutched at the blood dotted sheets. A cold clarity splashed over him, as sudden as the shock from diving into a deep and frigid lake. 

Whatever made him believe for even one moment that he could keep what he treasured most? Like trying to hold smoke in hand--impossible. Impossible. Everything was ephemeral, everything except himself and those of his kind, frozen and trapped in time like insects in amber.

He pictured transforming Sarah, recreating her in his image. The vision tormented him with equal measures of agony and cruel pleasure. He could feel her life flowing into his throat and belly, filling the emptiness, erasing the pain. He could see the flush of life fade from her skin, leaving her porcelain and cold, the joy and delight in her eyes replaced with ruthless thirst. 

_Whatever I touch, I destroy._

"Sleep," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Forget."

"No," Sarah said, her voice slurred. Von Krolock felt her push against the soporific daze he projected.  "Don't go." Her hands clutched at his hair, his shirt, his cloak. With surprising strength she pulled his face close. "Take me with you."

"My world is filled with horror and death. There is no place in it for you." He passed a hand over her face. "Forget."

"I will never forget…." Sarah's voice trailed off as her eyes glazed over then closed. He caught her as she began to slip backwards, and lowered her gently onto her bed. With intense deliberation he unwound her fingers from their fierce grip on his clothes, kissing each one before crossing her hands over the slight swell of her breasts.

He stared at the swath of his black hair tangled with the auburn of hers, all overlaid with silver moonlight. He swept errant strands back from her forehead and flushed cheeks.

"Sarah," he murmured. "Walk with joy in the world of the sun, which is your birthright." He gazed down at her sleeping face, burning into memory every line and curve and nuance of color. He let his eyes trace over her body, lithe and slender, just budding into womanhood. The intoxicating scent of wild roses and freshly cut meadows, spice and golden honey filled his nose and mouth. He took his time and looked his fill. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to Sarah's brow. 

"Farewell, star-child," he murmured. "Live the life God has given you. Leave all darkness behind."

He slipped out the window as the demon within snarled in frustration.

_You are a fool_ , came the sneering taunt as von Krolock launched into the brisk air, mantle fluttering, the sky above a bowl of indigo speckled with stars.

_Perhaps. At least I haven't forgotten what it is to be a man. I have some sense of honor, tarnished though it may be._

He gazed down at the landscape flowing by below, the sprawling dark forest, the silver rivers and alpine pools, the meadows already fading to straw and brown. Towering mountains reached up toward the heavens. But nothing--not the starry sky above or the solid earth below, all the beauty of the world--could touch the aching void within, stretching into eternity.

*******

_"I will wander 'til the end of time, torn away from you._

_I pulled away to face the pain._   
_I close my eyes and drift away._   
_Over the fear that I will never find_   
_A way to heal my soul._   
_And I will wander 'til the end of time_   
_Torn away from you._

_My heart is broken_   
_Sweet sleep, my dark angel_   
_Deliver us from sorrow's hold_   
_(Over my heart)._

_I can't go on living this way_   
_But I can't go back the way I came_   
_Chained to this fear that I will never find_   
_A way to heal my soul_   
_And I will wander 'til the end of time_   
_Half alive without you_

_My heart is broken_   
_Sweet sleep, my dark angel_   
_Deliver us_

_Change - open your eyes to the light_   
_I denied it all so long, oh so long_   
_Say goodbye, goodbye_

_My heart is broken_   
_Release me, I can't hold on_   
_Deliver us_   
_My heart is broken_   
_Sweet sleep, my dark angel_   
_Deliver us_   
_My heart is broken_   
_Sweet sleep, my dark angel_   
_Deliver us from sorrow's hold"_

_-My Heart is Broken, Evanescence_


	9. Entr'acte

**_Lost In Paradise_ **

**_Evanescence_ **

 

_I've been believing in something so distant_

_As if I was human_

_And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness_

_In me, in me_

 

_All the promises I made_

_Just to let you down_

_You believed in me, but I'm broken_

 

_I have nothing left_

_And all I feel is this cruel wanting_

 

_We've been falling for all this time_

_And now I'm lost in paradise_

 

_As much as I'd like the past not to exist_

_It still does_

_And as much as I'd like to feel like I belong here_

_I'm just as scared as you_

 

_I have nothing left_

_And all I feel is this cruel wanting_

 

_We've been falling for all this time_

_And now I'm lost in paradise_

 

_Run away, run away_

_One day we won't feel this pain anymore_

 

_Take it all away_

_Shadows of you_

_Cause they won't let me go_

 

_Until I have nothing left_

_And all I feel is this cruel wanting_

 

_We've been falling for all this time_

_And now I'm lost in paradise_

 

_Alone, and lost in paradise_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: "I've been waiting for you, Since you've been born. I've waited patiently, But not for long. And since I know all your dreams, I understand what you need, And when I call you, You must go where I lead. Your dreams are so hungry, It's time now to feed."  
> \- from translation of Gott Ist Tott, provided by Vamptanzen's "Tanz der Vampire" Site.


End file.
